


Empty

by Prettyraddawg



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Emptiness, Happy Ending, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Neutral Ending, Oneshot, Or At Least Not Bad, Self Harm, lack of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28609539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prettyraddawg/pseuds/Prettyraddawg
Summary: Morty thought he was the only one who went through life devoid of emotion. He thought he was alone, but that was okay. It’s not like he could feel loneliness.When Morty’s grandfather returns, he realizes that maybe he isn’t as alone as he thought, and maybe he isn’t all that empty either.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

> The self harm isn’t super detailed, and it’s only talked about briefly (then again, this whole thing is brief). It’s based on a game (sort of), but I doubt anyone will be able to guess it because I’m so vague. Anyways, please enjoy!

He was empty. Since the moment he came squalling into the world, he was empty. Devoid of feeling, of personality, of  _ everything _ . He learned that his blank stares and empty eyes got him nothing, so he screamed and he cried and he smiled and he laughed. But he was empty. 

The older he got, the more empty he felt. His reactions became automatic, but mechanical. When someone was mean to him, he cried, but he felt nothing. When his mother hugged him after a long day, he hugged her back, but the action held no affection.

He seemed normal. A little bit of a loner, a little bit odd, but normal nonetheless.

His first feeling, his only feeling, was jealousy. Jealous that other people got to feel so many things. Love, joy, sorrow, hatred, and countless others. They got to feel everything, and he got to feel  _ nothing. _

So he mimicked the behaviors and the thoughts. He hugged his family more, and he told himself he loved them, and he spent time with them, and he helped them, and he felt…

Nothing.

He tried again. Wasn’t Jessica beautiful? Wasn’t Jessica kind? Wasn’t Jessica lovely? I love Jessica, he told himself, I want to hold her, kiss her, spend my life with her. 

Nothing.

There was nothing. He was nothing and he had nothing. Emptiness and what?

Jealously. That was a feeling, but even that was beginning to fade back into the monotony of his void. What did he have, what did he possibly have, surely there was  _ something. _

And there was.

Pain.

So he tried what he found on the internet. He slashed his wrists and thighs and any piece of meat he could find. And because he had always been empty, because he had always only ever faked humanity, because all of him was one elaborate lie, and he was the best liar, no one knew the difference. 

He was alone, but not lonely. He was void, but not empty. He had his razor, and he was filled with blood.

The jealousy subsided and he was left with his pain, the sweet sting of cuts, the warm ooze of blood, the desperate itch of scabs. He wasn’t empty anymore. He wasn’t full, but fuck, he wasn’t  _ empty. _

The next time he felt something, it was excitement. Something  _ new  _ had happened. Something that no one could guess and no one could expect and he got to watch it all unfold.

A mysterious stranger had swooped into his home, embedded himself in his family, stuck his claws in deep, and he got to watch.

Despite not having any, he was very attuned to the feelings of others. He watched as his mother dipped into hysteria. She had been stable, not exactly happy, but stable, before the man arrived. No she was ecstatic or petrified, frantic in everything she did. She would fix a breakfast fit for a king, and that same day forget to make dinner because she was so drunk.

Summer changed very little, but he noticed how her general apathy towards her family ebbed, if only slightly.

His father’s change had been his favorite, though. The man had gone from weak, obedient, quiet, and meek, to erratic. He couldn’t stand the stranger in his home, couldn’t stand his fragile masculinity being torn down. He watched his father pitch a fit at everything, all the time, and watched the stranger take it all with cool indifference only to strike back with the lethal accuracy of a cobra.

The stranger was strange indeed. Despite everything, he couldn’t figure out what the man was feeling, ever. It took months for him to realize why.

He  _ wasn’t  _ feeling.

One particular night, he awoke to a crash from below him, in the garage. He assumed it must be the stranger and went to investigate. He found the man in the concrete room, now taken over by experiments that looked like they belonged in a movie.

“Grandpa Rick?” The man did not move.

“I told you not to- to quit callin’ me that…”

“Sorry,” he wasn’t, “but I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Y-yeah, whatever, kid. Shoot.”

“You’re like me, aren’t you?”

Finally the stranger reacts. He spins around in his chair to face the boy through a set of thick goggles.

“Like you? You mean an idiot? Because I’m clearly not an idiot.”

“Empty. You’re empty, aren’t you?”

“Are- is this supposed to tug at my heartstrings or something? Make me f-feel bad? Do you want somethin’ from me?”

“You don’t have heartstrings, do you?”

A pause. “No. I don’t.”

Morty hops up onto the dryer by the door, he kicks his legs and stares at the ground, seemingly deep in thought. When he finally looks back at Rick, he smiles.

“Me either.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a oneshot, but I have ideas of how to continue it, if anyone would be interested. Feel free to let me know! Thanks for reading!


End file.
